The pattern will change . . .
because I am here. A girl walks across the Brooklyn Bridge, a backpack full of knitting slung over her shoulder, a green fish kite in her hand.
A boy balances on the bridge's crisscross webbing, waiting for the girl to pass.
Are they angels? Spiders? In love? Or in danger? Once they connect, they'll start a chain of events that could stretch out smoothly like the river below them -- or become knotted like a tangled web of spider silk. "I can do this.
Climb the wall.
Don't think twice.
Leap for it. "
The pattern will change . . .
because I am here. A girl walks across the Brooklyn Bridge, a backpack full of knitting slung over her shoulder, a green fish kite in her hand.
A boy balances on the bridge's crisscross webbing, waiting for the girl to pass.
Are they angels? Spiders? In love? Or in danger? Once they connect, they'll start a chain of events that could stretch out smoothly like the river below them -- or become knotted like a tangled web of spider silk. "I can do this.
Climb the wall.
Don't think twice.
Leap for it. "